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User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Twelve Stars of Taneth: Chapter 2
Chapter 1 Sorry for any gramatical errors, just try to ignore them. For more background read these pages: Crimson Archer Daireg Whistles Elis Oakvale Keshik Reign of Chaos Chapter 2: New Friends, Old Problems Day turned to night and night to day, as morning sunlight fell on the estate of the man who used to be the Crimson Archer. Shayera rose early in the morning, dressed in her commander’s uniform, went for a long run several miles up the road, and then came back. She did a rigorous workout in the barn, which the horses must’ve found entertaining, because they quietly watched her while chewing on cud. Returning to the house, she then soaked in the bath Jeremias had set up for her, before dressing in a more comfortable and suitable outfit and heading downstairs for breakfast. There was a whole room in the manor that was empty, save for a single, small table that occupied the middle of the hard wood floor. One wall was entirely glass, and looked out onto the countryside. The morning light was soft, and the view was very beautiful. Her father occupied one of four chairs at the table. He was in a sleeping gown, but a different one than the one he’d had on yesterday. He had leaned back in his chair, so that it was up on two legs, and was looking out the window. “Kaden and Halah come visit me, every now and again.” He said as she entered. “We eat meals out here. Kaden wants to come live with me permanently. I’m not sure why I don’t let him.” Shayera knew why, and she sure it was because he didn’t want to feel like a single father. If he continued to raise Kaden on his own, Juliette’s passing would become real. She didn’t say that though, it’d only make him feel bad. Kaden was her youngest brother, and Halah her second youngest sister. Halah was off at the University now, but she was certain Kaden visited frequently. “Not Raine?” Sahir pursed his lips. “You know we don’t talk.” “So only them and me come to visit you?” Shayera asked, feeling a pang of guilt, and embarrassment for her siblings. Twelve al Dins, and only three of them visited their father. “Dalia comes by every once and a while, and me and Conner exchange letters.” He waved his hand. “I’m not so old that I need to have my every moment spent in company, it’s fine, they’re living their own lives. I didn’t speak to my parents for ten years, once. This is just karma.” “Uh-huh.” Shayera agreed neutrally. “Are you going to try and convince to come back again?” Sahir asked. “It’s fun saying no to you.” “I’m not. After sleeping on it, I’ve realized that you can’t be persuaded.” “Smart of you, acknowledging that I always win.” He said with a nod. “Yeah, really smart of me.” Shayera remarked. “You know, we may be a lot alike, but I’ve always held that sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.” “I wasn’t being sarcasm, I was being droll.” “Your face is droll.” Shayera rolled her eyes at him as Jeremias walked in, baring a tray of food. “That eggs, beefhash, and coffee, Jeeves?” Sahir called over his shoulder to the butler. “Indeed, my lord. Scrambled, minced, and black.” “Business as usual then.” Sahir said, as Jeremias set the tray down on the table. Shayera removed her own plate and cup, but Sahir let Jeremias do it for him. “What?” Sahir said in response to the look his daughter gave him. “He likes doing it, you’re doing his job for him otherwise.” “Jeremias we do not pay you enough.” “Actually, mistress, I am paid a small fortune.” Jeremias corrected her. “Master Sahir redirected some of the taxes that are supposed to go to the nobility to instead pay my salary some three decades ago. “He owns a chain of inns out in Sentinel.” Sahir said, pointing his fork at Jeremias, his mouth full of egg. “He hasn’t needed to work for me for the last twenty years.” “You’re joking.” Shayera said, exasperated. “My wealth is no laughing matter, my lady.” Jeremias told her as he removed the tray and returned to the kitchen. “I thought it’d be a good prank, myself.” Sahir said, scratching his chin. “But then no one noticed so I thought ‘let’s just leave it.’” “Unbelievable.” “So!” Sahir began, clapping his hands, and leaning forwards over the table. “I had Jeeves draw up an itinerary for the day. While you’re here, we might as well have some fun.” “Oh?” “Oh indeed. Jeeves bring in the poster.” Sahir called out. There was a pause, as Jeremias came stumbling in, on unsteady legs. Crimson frowned at him, canting his head. “You okay Jeeves? You forget how to walk or something?” Jeremias began to pitch over, and Shayera shot out of her seat, and dashed over to catch him before he hit floor. Sahir rose and came over as quickly as he could, looking concerned. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked. “I don’t know.” Shayera answered, lying the man down. Jeremias was twitching about, his eyelids fluttering. “But it looks like he’s having some kind of seizure.” Sahir frowned, considering his options. “Why should probably take him into the city, to check what’s wrong. Have the healers take a look at him.” He knelt beside the butler and nodded for Shayera to go. “I’ll stay here with him. You go hitch the horses to a carriage.” Shayera nodded back and rose to her feet, before heading out of the manor for the stable. Inside, Bells and Whistles seemed to be at loose ends, snorting and stomping their feet, as if they knew something was wrong. Shayera went to Whistles’ first, opening the stallion’s stall, and leading him out. Her father’s horse—which was actually a unicorn, she’d learned some time ago, and the story of how he’d acquired was rather fantastical—was a difficult beast. Although well trained with near human intelligence, it only let Sahir ride it. The few times Shayera had ever been allowed to ride it, her father had had to spend an half an hour in mediation with the horse first, talking to it, apparently convincing it to let her ride. Her father claimed it could talk, but only to him, and only by magically sharing it’s thought. Shayera wasn’t sure what she made of that, but she’d heard of stranger things, and from the conversations her father apparently had with the horse, it certainly seemed like it could speak back. As she led Whistles by the reins, outside, towards the carriage parked beside the barn, Whistles began to tug back. “Come on, let’s go.” She beckoned. The closer they got to the carriage, the more Whistles tugged, and he was strong. The animal must’ve weighed a few more times than she did and it showed in height and strength. “Come on, Whistles.” Shayera told the horse in a strained voice, as it dug it’s hooves into the dirt and leaned away. “This is important.” Five feet from the carriage, Whistles went berserk. He began to whip his head about, jerking Shayera along with the reins, and jumped around side. Shayera was pulled of her feet and hung onto the reins for dear life as she was dragged across the grass by the horse. “Whistles, no! Bad! Bad Whistles!” Shayera shouted at the horse, unsure how you coaxed an animal as smart as this. Obviously, Whistles didn’t want to be harnessed to the carriage. He probably found it degrading, or thought he was better than it, or maybe he just didn’t like it. Whatever the reason, the horse kicking up a storm. “Jeremias has to go to the hospital!” She shouted at it as she was pulled back and forth in front of the horse. “He’s hurt!” Shayera informed him. “You like Jeremias! He gives you food!” Whistles calmed down, breathing heavily through his snout, his blue eyes watching Shayera carefully. He hadn’t been persuaded yet. “This is important.” She explained. “Bells can’t pull the carriage by himself. You have to help.” Whistles looked away, snorting. “Sahir, Crimson, my dad, is counting on you. I’m counting on you. Jeremias is counting on you. You need to harness yourself to this carriage, even if you don’t like it. ” Whistles rolled one eye back in her direction, considering. It wasn’t so much speaking, Shayera thought, but a vague sense of knowing what the horse thought. A feeling of understanding washed over her as Whistles lowered his head, surrendering to her. At the same time an image popped into her mind of a very reluctant but yielding horse harnessed to a carriage. Perhaps whatever her father could sense from the horse was more refined, but she now had a better understanding of how he could hold talks with the creature. Leading Whistles towards the carriage, he pranced nervously on his hooves as she had him turn around and back between the rails of the carriage. She harnessed him to it, and then went to fetch Bells. Her horse was much easier to hook up, as it offered no resistance, simply complying to her commands. Shayera had envied her father the bond he had with his animal, but now Shayera wasn’t so sure having a horse that smart was a good thing. But it quite the pain in the arse when you wanted to make it do something it wasn’t in the mood for. Dusting her hands off, she returned to the house to get her father and Jeremias. Her father had carried Jeremias to the first sitting room of the house, and lain the man out on a couch, and was watching over him intently from a nearby chair. When Shayera entered the room, Crimson looked up. “Carry him to the carriage for me.” He told her. She approached the couch and scooped Jeremias up. He was incredibly light. The pair of them headed back outside, to the carriage. Shayera lay Jeremias down on one of the cushioned benches in the seating compartment, and Crimson sat across from him. Shayera climbed up into the driver’s box, whipped the reins, and they were off. ---- The carriage passed through the open Taneth gates under a noon sun, which beat down upon them. Taneth wasn’t a tall city, most of it’s buildings capped out at 4-5 stories, but were packed tightly together, giving the impression of an imposing skyline. One tower though, a pagoda, had once stood high above them all though. Sahir peered out the carriage’s window, up to where the Taneth Hall of the Virtues of War had once stood. Once. Until it had been destroyed. But in it’s heyday, it had been a school where the nuances of the Way of the Sword were taught, in hope all who studied there would achieve some mastery of it, as well as inner peace. Some of the best years of Sahir’s life had been spent there. As well as some of the worst moments of it. Two Redguards circled each other on the mat. Both appeared equal in age, but in actuality one was older than the other by three years. The older one had a rough, grizzled appearance. Despite the robe he currently wore, if one looked at his hands, they could see the ends of tattoos just past the wrist. He was more muscular than his opponent and taller. Despite his young age, his forehead was already lined from scowling. '' ''The other Redguard was younger. He had a slim build, and was average of height. He was handsome, in a dashing sort of way, especially when he smiled—but his expression was all intent right now, eyes narrowed and focused on the older man. '' ''Each held a scimitar, and by their stances and grips, both were very skilled. The robes they wore were plain and loose, to allow freedom of movement, and were belted at the waist by a cord of rope. Their feet and hands were bare, save for their swords. The room that contained the mat was flimsy, the walls made of yellowish-white straw. It was open to the air on one-side, that lead out onto a large balcony, a balcony which went all the way around the tower in which this room was held. Other students of the tower sat off to one side of the mat that dominated the room, and a lone old Redguard—likely sixty or so years old--to the other. His robes were more enveloping than those of the students, and it took little imagining to understand that he was the teacher. '' ''There was silence except for their footsteps on that mat, until the older Redguard cried out, and lunged. He swung down at his younger adversary, the air blurring around his sword. The young Redguard braced himself, turned his blade horizontal to parry. The attack slid off the curved edge of his sword and he retaliated immediately, driving his sword downwards towards the older Redguard’s stomach. However, the man easily side-stepped it, and brought his own sword around, swinging downward in a diagonal slice for the young man’s shoulder. '' ''The young man had to duck and move backwards to avoid being struck, and lost his balance while doing it. His feet slipped on the mat, and the older Redguard pressed his advantage, lifting his foot and kicking the young man straight in the chest. The handsome Redguard immediately went the rest of the way down, landing on his back with a jarring impact, his head hitting the mat, and the scimitar clattered from his hand. '' ''The older Redguard stood above him, sword held in a perfect Bellguard grip, a victorious smile on his face. He raised the scimitar over his opponent, and the younger Redguard gaped up in a mixture of fear and surprise. '' ''The old man, the teacher, held up his hand suddenly, and spoke in a stern voice. “The match is over. Daireg is the victor.” '' ''Daireg lowered his sword, smiling smugly, and the young Redguard sat up, rubbing his aching head. '' ''“Don’t be depressed, princeling.” Daireg said as he walked past, coming to stand in front of the ‘princeling,’ or rather, Prince Sahir. “You’re not bad, for a rich man’s pampered son.” '' ''In a sudden flurry of motion, the teacher shot across the room, furious, headed straight for Daireg. In his surprise, Daireg lifted his sword, but the teacher slapped it straight open of Daireg’s hand. The teacher grabbed Daireg’s wrist, braced a second palm at his stomach, and the flipped the man over his head like he was a sack of vegetables, sending Daireg into a rough landing on his back. '' ''“There is always someone better, Daireg.” The teacher told Daireg sharply, before using the grip he had on his student’s wrist to yank him to his feet. “Now apologize for your remark.” '' ''Daireg yanked his arm back and stood up straight, looking at the young Prince Sahir now. His emotions were masked, but one could feel the cold rage radiating off of him. It dissipated after a moment, and he turned to bow politely to the Redguard he had called ‘princeling.’ The Prince rose to his feet, and bowed back, his own face giving nothing away. It wasn’t hard to sense that these two boys hated each other. '' ''That night, Sahir sat in a separate room of the tower, crossed legged, at its center. He was alone, the door to the balcony that circled the entire floor left open so he could feel the cool dusk air upon him. The light was dim, as the sun was setting behind the horizon. '' ''Three jars of paint sat around him; one for white, one for black, and one for amber. He sat shirtless, dressed only in a pair of loose cotton shorts, and almost every visible inch of him was painted. Little images of eyes covered his skin, each a representation of his own. It was done with your real eyes closed, and took true mastery to complete. Originally such a thing was used by the Sword-Singers of legend, who painted eyes on themselves to confuse their opponents, but now it was an exercise in patience, technique, concentration, and determination. '' ''Painting the face was the hardest part. Sahir liked to think it was because your face already knew it had a perfectly good pair of eyes and didn’t need anymore. '' ''“You practice as a man obsessed.” '' ''Sahir’s eyes darted open, and he drew a line of black down his arm by accident. He looked to the balcony entryway, where the teacher stood. '' ''“Master Ishien.” Sahir said, setting his brush aside and rising to his feet to bow. '' ''Ishien observed him for a moment, before bowing back. '' ''Sahir turned away, his concentration broken by his Master’s arrival, and his face was a mask of anguish, showing how he truly felt after his defeat today. '' ''“I’m not good enough, Master Ishien.” He turned back to the old man. “I lost.” “Everyone losses, now and again.” Ishien said indifferently, stepping into the room. Sahir shook his head, and turned away fully, arms held before him with his fists clenched, as if he was trying to grab hold of something. “I have to be the best there is—no matter what it takes!” '' ''“’Shouting to halt the sands’ shifting only leaves you hoarse.’” The Master quoted, and the Prince recognized the words of Frandar Hunding. “Defeat can be more instructive than victory.” He said sagely. '' ''The Redguard looked back over his shoulder at the old man, wondering what he meant by that. Ishien only nodded, and then left his pupil to his practice his technique. '' ''The tower fell even darker now, as night had fully set upon it. '' ''The sword room, as it was called, where only a single set of swords sat—the master’s own, a set of expertly forged Orichalcum blades. The room was also used for private sessions, where Master Ishien and a student would have one-on-one duels. '' ''A shadow was cast over the swords as a man reached for the shamshir, the largest scimitar and primary weapon of the set. '' ''The thief stretched his hand out and grasped the weapon, dexterously lifting it from its stand. '' ''The room was suddenly awash with light, and Daireg spun around with a gasp, tightening his grip on the sword, surprised to have been caught. '' ''“Good thing I decided to practice tonight.” Sahir said, painted from head to toe with duplicates of his own eyes. Even his nipples had their own eyes: one could only guess if that was some kind of joke. He had managed to paint a few on his face, and they covered his cheeks and jaw. The contrast of all those pupils and irises indeed made it difficult to focus on Sahir’s real eyes. '' ''“Master Ishien would hate to lose that blade.” Sahir said as he set down his lamp, deadpan. In his other hand he held his training scimitar, its dull, unpolished steel reflecting some of the light. “It’s two thousand years old.” '' ''“True.” Daireg agreed. “And worth a fortune.” He drew his own scimitar from a sheath at his side as he tossed the shamshir to the ground. “But I don’t need it to take care of you.” The two took stances and circled one another, just as they had earlier that day. '' ''“Yah!” Daireg cried, advancing a step with his scimitar extended as Sahir took a step back and braced himself to defend. '' ''“Stop!” A voice commanded, causing both of them to freeze in place and look in its direction. '' ''Master Ishien stood once again in the balcony entryway, framed by the lamplight against the night sky. He was not a tall or powerfully built man, but he painted a striking figure when he needed to. '' ''“You have dishonored the Hall of Virtues, Daireg. You no longer have any place here!” He swung his arm, pointing towards the doorway. “Go!” He commanded. '' ''Daireg lowered his sword, glaring daggers at the Sahir. The boy did not flinch under Daireg’s fury. '' ''“You will pay for this, princeling.” Daireg growled. “I will take all that you hold dear—and then I will destroy you!” '' ''With that, he dramatically dashed away, out into the night. '' ''Sahir took a half-step after him, but Master Ishien called him back. '' ''“Let him go. He has nothing left and nothing could be gained by stopping him.” Ishien then murmured something under his breath that the Prince obviously wasn’t supposed to hear: “And there is nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose.” '' ''“Return to your room. We’ll discuss what happened on the morrow.” '' ''Sahir turned to walk out of the room, leaving the shamshir where it lay. Training continued the next day, and everyone acted like Daireg had never existed, likely because the Master did not mention the man, but rumors traveled fast. But the Prince, who would come to be called the Crimson Archer, did not forgot Daireg so easily. '' Daireg had died on the slopes of Corten Mont over forty years ago, at the hands of an ally of Sahir’s. But the fact that there had been no body left after the fight bothered him. Daireg had apparently been burnt to nothing by lava when Corten Mont erupted during the fight. That didn’t ease Sahir’s mind at all. It was just like Daireg, to be able to win some small victory over Sahir, even in death. Not only would Sahir never be able to rest easy, knowing he had no true proof of Daireg’s death, but it was Daireg’s legacy that had caused the Hall to be burned. Allowing the Hall’s destruction to happen was, perhaps, Sahir’s greatest regret, aside from not deciding to ride out with an armed escort to Kvatch two years before. Sahir pulled his eyes away from the empty spot in the sky where the tower should’ve been, to Jeremias. The valet was sweating from the heat, and his condition had improved none. The carriage slowly rolled through Taneth, and people clear way for it. It was inlaid with gold, and bore the royal insignia upon its doors. Sahir made to drawn the curtains over the windows. They likely thought it was Hakim or Aleera in the carriage. If anyone so much got a glimpse of him, moving through the streets would be ten times more difficult. Sahir liked to think he was modest, but he also knew how popular he was. His return, in a time of strife for Taneth, would likely be seen as something more than it actually was. Through the narrow streets they rolled, under rooftops that blocked out the sky, until gradually the streets grew wider, and the buildings on each side of them gave way to gardens that led up to the massive brace gates of the palace. The guards pulled the gate open at the sight of a royal carriage and the sight of Shayera, allowing them inside. Sahir took in Taneth’s palace. It was capped with several gold domes, the stonework of it was tan color, and it was massive, with multiple wings, expanses, courtyards, ball rooms, gardens, armories, barracks. The palace was built for elegance and luxury, instead of practicality or defense. It had been his home for most of his life, but for some reason now the place just seemed… hollow. Like when you’d read a book so many times that the story stopped being a story and was instead words on a page. To Sahir, the palace was missing something it had once had. The carriage rolled to stop, and he listened as Shayera jumped down and walked to the compartment’s door. “We’re here.” She said, pulling the door open. “Seriously? This place?” He asked. “Doesn’t really look like the hospital to me. Did you get lost?” “Help me get him out.” His daughter said, prompting Sahir to wrap Jeremias’ arm around his shoulder, lift the man up beneath his knees, and slowly but surely carry him out of the cart, and place him in Shayera’s arms. “Can’t do too much of that, hurts my knees.” Shayera only made a noise of annoyance as she was forced to carry Jeremias up to the palace and inside. The guards in the main hall, both armored in red-lacquered mail and boasting Orichalcum scimitars on their hips, were very surprised to see a princess carrying an unconscious old man, while the former king trailed behind her in his pajamas. Sahir wasn’t even wearing shoes. “Can we, um, help you? Sire? My lord?” One of the guards asked, unsure how to approach this scenario. “Yeah, one of you be a right gent and take Jeeves here from my daughter. Gently, he’s fragile. The other one can lead us to the palace healers.” The first guard to speak up stepped forwards and gently took Jeremiah from Shayera’s arms, and then stood at the ready to receive further orders. “Palace healers?” The other guard asked, frowning. “No, I said polish heelers. Yes, the palace healers. The one’s we’ve had on staff for, like, ever?” Shayera coughed into her fist. “Aleera fired them.” Sahir looked over at her. “Why?” “She said since there were no more, uh, elderly around and no more children were being born, they weren’t needed on staff.” Sahir just looked confused by that. “But ''why?” Shayera shrugged. “I don’t know—can we just get Jeremias to a bed, and I’ll send one of the guards to run for the healers.” “Yeah, sure.” The old king said, looking miffed by the whole situation. He followed the other three as Shayera directed them to a guest room, set up with fancy decorative chairs and a massive bed with all manner of fancy pillows covering it. The guard set Jeremias gently down on the bed, which Sahir knew Jeremias would protest having been given so lavish a bed when he awoke, and backed away. “Now both of you, sent runners for the best healers in the city. And fast.” Shayera instructed them, going over to the bed to tuck Jeremias comfortably into it. “Right away, my lady.” They replied, bowing to her and Sahir, before backing out. “They don’t do the ‘my king’ chest salute thing to me anymore.” Sahir noted once that were gone. “I kind of miss that.” “It’s cause you’re not king anymore, dad.” Shayera said, taking a seat in the corner of the room. “Which means you’re not in charge. Which also means Aleera’s going to come storming in here and you can’t do a darn thing about it. In three… two… one…” Sahir looked sharply towards the doorway as the sound of boots clicking on marble flooring echoed down the cavernous hallways of the palace, headed towards the room. He looked back to Shayera, alarmed. “Don’t involve me.” She said, holding up her hands. Aleera speed walked right into the room, arms clenched at her sides. “You don’t write, you don’t visit, you don’t even remember birthdays, and then you show up one day in a nightgown and start giving orders to my ''soldiers?” She demanded, the flow of words beginning before she’d even entered the room, and stopped once she’d assumed position in the middle of it, aiming a deadly stare at her father. “Good to see you too, Aleera, so glad to see nothing has changed.” Sahir replied. “Oh, nothing ''has changed. About you. You’re just as negligent as you were when you left.” “Well I’d never compliment myself in such a way, but I’ll take it…” “Do you understand what you dumped on my shoulders when you just gave up?” “A few weeks of therapy?” Sahir guessed. “More like years.” Aleera growled, obviously not likely how flagrantly her father was mocking her. “I see everything is still a joke to you, dad, I wonder if you’ve figured out yet that you’re the biggest one.” Shayera tried to look very small, as if hoping they’d forget she was ever in the room. Sahir gave Aleera a look that was a cross between shock and amusement. Both parties fell silent, and that was when Raine choose to walk in. Compared to her two sisters, she was very different. Aleera was tall, as tall as her father, with strong, distinguished features. In her youth, she’d be very beautiful, and as she’d grown older that beauty had only matured. Age suited her, and she wore it with pride. Aleera had had many and still had many suitors, merely the kind had changed. At thirty-eight, she still had not married, and it was becoming court gossip if she ever would. Shayera took after her father, in having looks that were ever presently youthful. Her hair wasn’t even neck length, instead cut relatively short, and it exploded in curls. She had a round, girlish face, a prominent jaw bone, and large hazel eyes. Her cunning smile reflected Sahir’s own, so much that if they were suddenly both amused side-by-side, the similarity of expressions was eerie. Shayera had thick shoulders for a woman, a result of becoming skilled with the bow, and overall athletic build. Raine was different from them both. She has delicate, fine features, and slim frame to match. While both Shayera and Aleera dominated whatever room they were in, Raine stuck to the sides, out of sight. She was shy and quiet, and spoke only when necessary. Sahir watched Raine’s entrance like one watches an unfriendly dog. The young woman gave him a small smile. “Hello, father.” She greeted him quietly, coming to stand near Aleera’s side, like her shadow. “Raine.” Sahir replied with a nod. Silence fell again. “So this is nice.” Shayera broke in. “Got some of the family back together. Hashing somethings out…” “When you said you’d convince him to come back, I didn’t think you were serious.” Aleera told her. “Okay, Aleera, I’m right here.” Sahir said, not happy about being talked about in the third person, and even less happy about being ignored. “I’m not ‘back,’ although your delight at having me warms my heart. I’m here for Jeremias. He’s sick.” He told her, gesturing to the bed. Aleera glanced over and walked to the bedside, laying the back of her hand on Jeremiah’s forehead. They all thought well of the old butler, who had pretty much been with them through all their lives. “What happened?” Aleera asked. “He just collapsed.” Shayera answered her. “We were hoping the healers could help.” Aleera nodded stepping away, and looking to Sahir. “When he gets better, you’ll leave?” Sahir shrugged. “Probably. While I’m here, though, I’m going to make your life miserable.” He frowned, glancing around. “Where’s Hakim and Conner and Julius?” He asked, figuring if the boys were here they’d all take his side. So far Shayera wasn’t proving to be the best ally. “Busy.” Aleera answered. Sahir frowned at her. She’d known the instant he’d arrived. The palace answered to her. He’d known for a long time that Aleera was domineering. But was she so domineering to basically sweep the ruling of Taneth out from underneath Hakim’s feet? “Busy? Busy with what.” Aleera opened her mouth to tell him off probably, but Shayera piped up first. “War meeting.” She said. “Remember what I told you about Tidon? It’s caused a whole mess of problems.” “You told him about Tidon?” Aleera demanded of Shayera. “Of course I did.” Shayera said shrugging. “What—did you think I was not going to tell the former king that his own son is rebelling?” “Not if it’s none of his business!” “A war meaning, huh?” Sahir asked, having zoned out for the argument his two daughters had been having. “Sounds like fun. I might sit in on that. I assume you didn’t fire the war room too.” Sahir quipped to Aleera, before marching out. “Did you guys notice he wasn’t wearing any shoes?” Raine asked. ---- Crimson frowned on his city. The towers, too blocky, they sprawled across streets. The people, too round and fat. The army, disorderly and pathetic. This city was a disgrace. It needed to be cleansed. And only one man was fit for the job… the Crimson Archer “Sahir.” Juliette spoke up to him from across the table, sounding exasperated. “Are you… playing with your food?” “No.” Crimson answered hurriedly, filling a forkful of peas, and shoving them into his mouth to prove he wasn’t. Such a shame—he’d worked hard to set them all up in those rows. He made a face at how cold it was. It took meals a while to get from the kitchen to the dining table and longer for them to actual start eating. Prime warm had faded by then, so most food was nearing lukewarm when Crimson got his hands on it. No one wanted to eat cold peas. And Crimson was still secretly freaking out about the almost-getting-poisoned-ordeal. Who knew if someone else might try and he didn’t catch it? He could be eating poison right now. “I was thinking we could take Aleera out tomorrow.” “I don’t think Aleera appreciates family meals as much as you do.” Crimson said, glancing over at the third seat at the massive dining table, which was high-chair occupied by an unconscious three-month-old who had had the misfortune of passing out in her baby food. Crimson could guess who’d be made to clean that up. The servants, that’s who, no way was he touching baby mush, it was gross. Crimson sat at the head, Juliette to his right, Aleera to his left, and then the rest of the hundred or so seats at the dining table were empty. He thought it’d be kind of funny if they used it, but now it was just weird having so much empty space to themselves. “No, you ass.” Juliette reprimanded, flicking him on the wrist, to which he lifted it away and mouthed ‘ouch’ at her. “Out of the city. There’s an estate to the south of here. It’s got a stable for Whistles and there’s wide range around it. It’d be nice to just… get away.” “Counteroffer.” Crimson said. “We just lock the bedroom for three days and have a sex marathon.” He got a sardonic brow raise and fold-of-the-arms as a clue to what she thought of that. “No.” “You say that now, but give me ten minutes and it’ll just be a stream of ‘yesses.’” He got laugh out of that one and then another no. He figured it had been worth a shot. After all, Aleera had been the result of the last one and Juliette didn’t seem to upset with that outcome. So that was how Crimson ended up at an estate a hundred miles away from Taneth, sitting on a hill top, dressed in clothes that were too nice to be wasted on an outing where the only people who’d see them was a woman who preferred him naked anyway, a baby, and he was pretty sure babies at three months were still blind, so Crimson figured he’d be better off if he’d just come without any clothes anyway. He blew air out from between his lips, pulling grass up, as Juliette entertained the baby. She waved Aleera’s little arms and made faces at her, and did generally everything you do to babies to make them laugh. Crimson had joined in at first, but he realized the baby laughed at everything so it really wasn’t appreciating the finer aspects of humor. He looked up, decided to distract himself with the scenery as something glinted on a far hilltop. He narrowed his eyes, focusing in on whatever had refracted the light. “Juliette.” Crimson said warningly, placing himself between her and whatever that was glinting in the distance. From how it took the light, it could’ve been an arrowhead. “Take Aleera and go down to the house and stay there.” “What?” She asked him, scrunching her face up in a very cute modicum of confusion. “Why?” “I see something. And it doesn’t look friendly.” “Alright.” She nodded. “I’ll come back with--” “No.” He told her, getting quite intent. “Don’t leave the baby alone. Grab a weapon and stay there. I’ll come back once I’ve checked it out.” She hesitated, obviously not wanting to allow him to go alone and unarmed, but saw the logic in what he was saying. “Once you’ve checked it out.” She told him. “Be careful.” “Of course, I’d Captain Careful for you, miss.” He grinned. They shared a quick kiss, before dashing opposite directions. Crimson taking off down the hill, and then up the next in pursuit of the glinting light, and Juliette down towards the house. Crimson was shock full of adrenaline and anger at the idea of someone threatening his family, which allowed him to sprint most of the way up the hill, but by the time he reached the top he was just tired. He had to rest a moment, before looking up. Elis Oakvale stood above him, twirling an arrow by its shaft on the tip of her finger, a bow in her other hand. Crimson did a double take. “Elis? What- but how- She drew back the arrow in a flash and fired it at Crimson. “Yikes!” Crimson shouted, so surprised by the woman and the attack, that he couldn’t even manage to say anything catchy. He rolled, avoiding the arrow as it whistled by him, and shot to his feet. He closed the distance between them and she tossed her bow aside, going for her dagger. She whipped it clear of it’s sheath, slicing a fine cut across Crimson’s stomach in the process. “Ow! Son of a-“ He cursed, stumbling back and holding the wound. Elis advanced on him, dagger held at her side. “Whoa, hold now there, little lady. Let’s not get carried away.” “Get carried away? I think I pretty much know what I’m doing.” She told him, lifting the dagger, and then stabbing at him. Crimson checked the attack, sidestepped and guiding her arm past him so that she missed, and used his momentum to drive a vicious punch into her liver. Elis made an ‘oof’ noise at the impact. Crimson gripped her dagger arm in one hand, and the slapped the other hand down on her back, grabbing a fistful of her jacket, and yanking her to him. He drove his knee in rapid succession into her thigh, weakening her leg, then stamped down on her foot, and violently shoved her. There was a snap and a pop as Elis’ ankle broke, and she fell onto her back, not evidently in any pain from the injury. Crimson stood over her for a second too long, as Elis still held the dagger, which she brought back, and threw into Crimson’s shoulder. Crimson, on the other hand, was very much in pain. He howled, stumbled backwards, and gripped the dagger by its handle. “Damn Bosmer girls, freaking crazy…” He growled, before yanking the dagger out. He glared down at Elis, dagger in his hand, and all kinds of furious. “I see I will not defeat you in this medium.” Elis noted. “I’m going to defeat your medium, alright.” Crimson shot back, to angry to realize what he said made no sense. He stepped forward, to finish her off. “Crimson!” Juliette cried, reverting to the name she knew he really referred to himself as, as she charged up the hill, his own ebony scimitar in her hand. His attention was immediately drawn to her, as she closed the distance, but he had to finish the task at hand. He turned back to Elis. She was gone. Crimson looked up sharply, scanning the area. Rolling, open hills for miles around. No crippled Elis crawling away. Not Elis. Not-Elis. The opposite guy. Not-Heartbender. “Crimson.” Juliette said again, out of breath, stopping front of him. “Where’d you get that dagger? Oh- what happened to you?” She exclaimed, reaching out to touch the red gash at his stomach. “It’s nothing.” He said, shooing her hand away. “There was… something here. I scared it off.” “What was it?” He grimaced, solemn. “I don’t know.” He followed the hill-line to the manor. “Where’s Aleera? I said not to leave her alone.” Crimson warned, although it was probably difficult for a mother to leave her child in possible danger like that, and Crimson had been in a pickle himself, so Juliette had likely had a good reason for coming anyway. Juliette grinned up at him, obviously having thought of an avenue he’d missed. “I left her with Whistles. I figured anyone who’d try to take her would get more than they bargained for.” “Nice.” He said, tossing Not-Elis’ dagger into the dirt, and taking his sword from her. He let her guide him back down to house, in case he was in any danger from passing out form his wounds. “Alright, so I’m thinking, outside was a bust, sex marathon is back on the table.” “We’ll see.” Juliette remarked dryly, which Crimson took as meaning he had a good to far chance if he just talked enough. Crimson was pretty good at talking. END OF PART 2 Chapter 3 Category:Blog posts Category:Stories Category:Twelve Stars of Taneth